


All beginnings are hard

by HoofbeatsOrThunder



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Becommissar Week, F/F, Matched tattoos, basically the whole Bella squad is mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 03:06:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4730543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoofbeatsOrThunder/pseuds/HoofbeatsOrThunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At age sixteen, a tattoo bleeds into existence across your skin. The image or words or whatever it may be are nearly unique in the world but for one exception: your soulmate, who shares your exact tattoo. Beca Mitchell has never really been concerned with finding her soulmate, she's too busy just trying to live her life. But when she and the Bellas fly to Copenhagen for Worlds, Fate has other plans, and Beca finds a lot more than she bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All beginnings are hard

**Author's Note:**

> All German is courtesy of the wonderful lilolilyrae. Any other mistakes are all me. Translations are at the end of the work.

They won. Holy shit, _they won_. Beca, jammed between an excitable Chloe and an even more excitable Emily, can't stop grinning. And she has every right. No American team has ever won Worlds, but it goes so far beyond that. They've saved the Bellas, done what everyone had told them was impossible, and done it with fucking _style_.  
  
She stands with all of the current Bellas on the Worlds stage and accepts the wrestling-esque belt( which is surprisingly heavy, _what the fuck_ ) and hoists it over her head with Chloe's help. The crowd loses its mind, shouting and screaming _for them_. Beca thinks she might actually cry if she were the sort to do that kind of thing. Thankfully, she manages to stay tear free, even as they're handed a sizable check and then ushered off the stage to the shouts of an adoring crowd. It feels good to be back on top again.  
  
The Bella's return to their dressing room in mass, everyone still riding the adrenalin rush that comes with performing ( _and fucking winning_ ). Beca manages to keep it cool for the most part, though she can't shake the grin that has probably taken up permanent residence on her face. When they file into their room, they all share a tearful group hug, and everyone is laughing and crying and just so so happy. Chloe grabs Beca around the neck and pulls her into a choking hug of her own. "We actually did it," the redhead murmurs into her ear, still seeming a bit shell shocked by the turn of events. Beca hugs her tightly before standing back so that she can look her in the face.  
  
"Did you ever doubt us," Beca asks teasingly. "Oh ye of little faith."  
  
Chloe gives her a playful smack on the shoulder. "I never doubted _us_ ," she says, but lowers her voice so that only Beca can hear. "But I saw DSM, we all did. I thought we were goners for sure."  
  
Okay, so Beca can totally understand, because hello, she has eyes, and DSM had put on one hell of a performance, pyrotechnics notwithstanding. Technically speaking( and deep in the secret part of her heart), Beca honestly believes that DSM _should_ have won. The larger group had been so on point that, caught up in the moment and possibly struck stupid by Kommissar in a leather legionary skirt, she had caught herself rooting for the German team. But the judges had the final say, and they had chosen the Bellas. Everything was right in the world.  
  
Around her, the other girls are slowly coming down from their high and stripping off their performance clothes in favor of outfits a little more suited for a night out on the town. Courtesy of the competition organizers, there's going to be a massive after party that all of the competitors are invited to attend. The girls are more than ready to have some fun after a year of hardcore preparation for the biggest performance of their lives. Even Beca is kind of looking forward to letting loose for what feels like the first time in forever.  
  
Beca watches her little surrogate family in the mirror as she changes. Emily is still grinning like a manic pixie. Chloe is slipping into a smoking hot red cocktail dress that's bound to draw everyone's attention at the party. She catches Fat Amy's eye from the corner, and the Australian gives her a ridiculous wink as she adjusts her boobs. Beca rolls her eyes and turns back to her own reflection to reapply her eyeliner. Some things never change, it seems.  
  
In what feels like no time at all, the Bella squad is done and ready to roll. Beca stands at the front of the group, admiring how well they all look together. They _look_ like a world champion a capella team. "Alright, ladies," she says with a grin, "let's go show them how real winners celebrate!"  
  
The group shouts and whistles, and Beca trails at the back of the pack with Chloe as they hustle from the room and navigate through the backstage corridors of the stadium. It’s a lot darker now that all of the performances are done, so Beca is completely blindsided when a member of DSM( the one Chloe had sung with at the riff off maybe?) appears out of thin fucking air and accidently crashes into her, spilling her cup of water all down Beca’s front. “Son of a bitch!”  
  
“I am so sorry! I could not see you, it is so dim back here now!” the girl says in heavily accented English, but Beca can see the calculation in her dark eyes and knows this wasn’t an accident. She gives a tight smile anyway.  
  
“No big deal,” she grits out between clenched teeth, patting uselessly at the massive wet spot spreading across her chest. “I’ll just go back and change real quick.” Chloe opens her mouth to protest, but Beca cuts her off, offering her friend a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, Chlo. I’ll just be a sec, you won’t even miss me.”  
  
“Are you sure, Beca?” she asks as the DSM girl swaggers off back into the dim hallway. Beca watches her go with a glare. She liked this blouse, dammit.  
  
“Yeah, it’s fine,” she says again. “Go on and get the party started without me. I’ll catch up in a minute.” The rest of the Bellas do as she says, wandering toward the growing clamor of the party outside the stadium. Chloe frowns again before turning as well and following after the other girls. She tosses one last concerned look over her shoulder before she disappears around a corner and Beca is left alone.  
  
When she is sure no one can hear her, she mutters a heartfelt “Fuck” and heads back to the dressing room. She’s stripping the soaked blouse over her head before the door even closes all the way and rummages through her suitcase for a suitable replacement. Muttering curses under her breath, she digs through the clothes, wishing she had brought a back up outfit. Lesson learned, she supposes. She finally gets her hands on a black button down that’ll do for the night, though it’s not nearly as nice as the blouse she’d had on previously. Sighing, she turns to look in the mirror and nearly shrieks when she sees someone standing in the doorway. A tall, blonde, and German someone.  
  
She spins around, shirt thrown up to cover her breasts. “What the actual fuck, man! This is my dressing room, what the hell are you doing in here?” If she weren’t a bit freaked out, Beca honestly would have been a little proud that she finally managed to say something not complimentary of the other woman.  
  
Kommissar smirks and takes a step further into the room, letting the door click shut behind her. Beca sends a prayer to the Big Man Up Top when she notices the German’s outfit. She’s changed out of most of her performance gear, just as the Bellas had, and is now wearing a pair of red skinny jeans so dark that Beca initially thinks they’re black. She’s still wearing her black button up with the mesh sleeves though, because why mess with a good thing? Beca can just make out the definition in her arms through the mesh and feels her mouth water a bit. _Get a grip, Mitchell_.  
  
She gives herself a mental shake. “Why are you in here, with me, looking all smirky and superior like usual? We beat you, or did you already forget?”  
  
“I forget nothing, tiny maus,” Kommissar says, “But perhaps I was just admiring the view.” She takes another step, and now she’s close enough that she could touch Beca if she reached out. Her eyes move hungrily over the bare skin of the smaller woman’s shoulders, looking like nothing more than the big bad wolf come to devour her. The muscles in Beca’s stomach clench, and her heart starts to race. “Just how many tattoos do you have? Besides the obvious one.”  
  
That’s a fucking loaded question if Beca has ever heard one. “That’s kind of personal, don’t you think,” she manages to ask, still clutching her shirt to her chest, covering the only tattoo that she actually hates. The one tucked along her ribs that she wishes she could just get rid of.  
  
Kommissar studies her, grey eyes missing nothing. “They are nothing to be ashamed of, tiny maus.” She reaches out, long fingers tracing along the outline of the tattoo that just peeks over her shoulder. Beca feels her skin break into goosebumps and fights the urge to shiver. Kommissar moves closer, towering over the Bella. She hates that she has to raise her chin so high to maintain eye contact with the German, but she refuses to be the first to look away.  
  
“Shouldn’t you be at the party, making everyone else look bad?” Beca asks, trying to deflect the conversation away from herself. Her shoulder starts to tingle under Kommissar’s gentle caresses.  
  
“I wished to see you alone first,” Kommissar tells her, voice dropping a little lower and sending Beca’s mind straight to the gutter. _That voice belongs in a bedroom_. “To congratulate you, of course. For beating me.” She drops her hand from Beca’s shoulder, and the Bella naively thinks that maybe that’s the end of the unnecessary and highly distracting touches.  
  
Strong hands suddenly grip Beca’s hips, pressing her back against the vanity table. Kommissar steps closer so that their thighs are brushing fully against each other and ducks her head so that she can speak directly into Beca’s ear.  
  
“I may have misspoken early when I said I forget nothing.” Her lips trace the line of the smaller woman’s jaw, and Beca whimpers. “I had forgotten how it felt to be beaten.” Her mouth slides down Beca’s neck, stopping to worry the vein jumping in the hollow of her throat. Kommissar’s voice is rough when she speaks against the sensitive skin. “How very intoxicating it can be, to find someone who challenges you.” Teeth nip at her collarbone, and her head falls back like a ton of bricks. “You were positively riveting on that stage, Beca Mitchell.”  
  
Beca manages to catch her breath long enough to gasp, “You’re one to talk, you flawless angel.” Kommissar chuckles into her neck, breath hot against her neck before pulling back to look at her.  
  
The German buries her hands in the smaller woman’s hair, holding her in place as she looms over her. Their faces are scant inches apart, and the only thing Beca can think of is her intense desire to find out if Kommissar tastes as good as she smells. Impulsively, Beca stretches up on her toes, _thank God for her heels_ , and presses her lips against the taller woman’s.  
  
Kommissar tenses as if Beca has slapped rather than kissed her, and Beca almost wonders if she’s overstepped some unspoken boundary. But then the blonde growls low in her throat, and she’s being kissed like it’s the end of the world.  
  
All her lust addled mind can come up with is, _Heaven tastes like peppermint_ , before it completely shut off and she’s absorbed in the kiss.  
  
Kommissar’s lips move hungrily over her own, demanding and just the slightest bit rough. Beca will never admit just how quickly that’s getting her hot and bothered, but she tries her damndest to give as good as she gets, tracing her tongue along the seam of the German’s lips until they part.  
  
Kommissar whines into her mouth, and the noise sets Beca’s blood boiling. She drops the shirt that she’s been clutching between their bodies and runs her hands along Kommissar’s sides, relishing in the way that the blonde’s body quivers against her own. Eventually they have to break apart for air, and Kommissar immediately latches back on to Beca’s neck, nibbling her way down the pale column of her throat. A hand untangles from the brunette’s hair and drops to cup one of her breasts. Beca gasps at the unexpected touch and then moans when Kommissar brushes a thumb across a lace covered nipple.  
  
“Are you so sensitive, Beca?” she rasps into the Bella’s ear, taking her earlobe between her teeth and tugging playfully. Beca’s hips jerk reflexively, grinding helplessly against Kommissar’s. The taller woman growls again. An exceptionally well-toned thigh finds its way between Beca’s legs and presses against the growing ache in her core.  
  
“Oh, God, please,” she begs, and she’s honestly too far gone to even be embarrassed by the breathy quality of her voice. Kommissar kisses her again, all tongue and teeth and heat. Beca is losing her mind in the maelstrom of feelings that the German is eliciting in her. Nothing has ever felt this right, this easy. It’s like they’ve fallen perfectly into the choreography for a dance they’ve never even done. It should be terrifying, but Beca is too focused on Kommissar’s tongue sliding hot and slick against her own to care.  
  
Kommissar breaks off the kiss and moves back down to Beca’s chest, kissing a path down her sternum and between the valley of her breasts until she’s kneeling at her feet. Her teeth are gentle against the sensitive skin and she sucks delicately on the skin at the top of the Bella’s abdomen. Beca fights down the desire to grind against Kommissar, but she’s so desperate for any kind of friction.  
  
The German reaches Beca’s navel when she stops suddenly, lips leaving her skin when she jerks away. Beca gasps in the unexpected silence, her breathing too loud in the her own ears. She looks down at Kommissar, wondering why the woman has stopped.  
  
“Das kann nicht sein,” the woman whispers. She is on her feet in an instant, staring at Beca with the panicked look of someone who's seen a ghost. Beca feels like ice has been dumped over her head. “This was meant to be harmless fun,” Kommissar says in English. She backs away from the Bella, eyes locked on something on Beca’s stomach.  
  
Before Beca can say a word or ask what’s wrong, Kommissar turns away and flees from the room. The door slams behind her with a frightening sense of finality.  
  
After she’s gone, Beca stares blankly at the door as if expecting the German to return and finish what they had started. Eventually she leans over to pick her long abandoned shirt up from the floor and turns to look at herself in the mirror. She can already see the beginnings of a couple of hickeys on her neck and chest, but her eyes drop to the tattoo on her side. Staring at the ink, Beca realizes with rising panic what had spooked Kommissar and convinced the woman to run away.  
  
Beca has a feeling, if she were to ever have gotten the other woman’s shirt off, that she would find identical words branded across Kommissar’s ribs. In all her life, Beca has never hated her Binding tattoo more than she does in that very moment, and wishes she could scrub those damning words from her skin.  
  
_Aller Anfang ist schwer_.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The party is already well under way when Beca finally makes her appearance. A DJing station has been set up on the stage, and the pit where fans had swarmed just hours earlier has been converted into a dance floor. People are everywhere, dancing, shouting over the music, drinking. It’s overwhelming for a moment while Beca tries to catch sight of the Bellas. From her left, she hears someone shout her name, and she turns to see Chloe pushing her way through the crowd to reach her.  
  
It seems like the redhead has already found the open bar, if her flushed face and unusually bright eyes mean anything. The half empty glass in her hand might also be a clue. “Beca, what took you so long?”  
  
Chloe has to shout a bit to be heard over the music and drunk a capella singers. Beca shrugs and takes the drink from her hand, throwing it back quickly. She grits her teeth at the overly sweet cocktail, but fuck it, she needs alcohol in her system if she’s going to survive the night. Chloe stares at Beca, confused and maybe even the slightest bit shocked. “Did something happen, Beca?” she asks, leaning in close so that she can lower her voice.  
  
Beca tries to smile, tries to play off the fact that her mind is flipping between chilling blankness and absolute panic. “It’s nothing,” she tells Chloe. “Just ran into Kommissar on the way back to the party.”  
  
Her friend’s eyes go wide. “Did she say something to you?” Chloe is immediately on the defensive, her expression smoothing out in that vaguely terrifying way that reminds Beca far too much of Aubrey.  
  
She links an arm through Chloe’s and steers her toward the bar. “Just the usual shit. Don’t worry about it. I took care of it.” Technically a lie, but Beca is so not having this conversation right now. At this very moment, she just wants to get roaring drunk and forget about the infuriating German that just might be her soulmate.  
  
The pair gets their drinks, not really caring what they grab, and Chloe hustles Beca towards the side of the dance floor where the Bellas have set up shop. Emily and Benji are dancing together and looking nauseously cute as they sway to the music. Stacie seems to be dancing with a guy and a girl, neither of which seem to be complaining. The Jessicas are nowhere to be seen, but Beca spots Fat Amy, Cynthia-Rose, Lilly, and Flo all dancing together with some obnoxiously tall guy. As she moves closer she recognizes the jaw and guyliner.  
  
“ _Pieter_?”  
  
The male lead of DSM turns, a heavy brow raised questioningly, but he never stops dancing with the Bellas. “Feisty maus, you have decided to join us finally?” He seems completely unconcerned by the fact that he’s surrounded by his rivals. His tone is even conversational over the blaring music. Beca is immediately suspicious.  
  
“Why are you over here? Shouldn’t you be off licking your wounds with the rest of DSM?” She looks nervously into the crowd, half-expecting Kommissar to be lurking just over her shoulder, but she doesn’t see any of DSM.  
  
Pieter finally steps away from the girls, moving closer so that they don’t have to yell so loudly over the music. He has to lean down ridiculously far to speak directly to her face.“My team is off enjoying this party, just as I am. Why don’t you join us? You can get your groove thing on with the rest of us, ja?” Beca can hear Amy shout something along the lines of ‘Hell yeah!’ behind Pieter’s back.  
  
Beca shakes her head and tries to back away, but she ends up running into someone. She turns to apologize only to find herself face to face with the girl that had spilled the water on her earlier. She’s looking at Beca with confusion, as if she didn’t expect her to be there. She turns to Pieter, eyes darting nervously between keeping an eye on all of the Bellas and searching the crowd for something.  
  
“Hast du Kommissar gesehen?” she asks in rapid German. Beca catches Kommissar’s name but has no idea what the girl is saying. Pieter looks confused, brows bunching together.  
  
“Nein, ich dachte, sie wäre bei dir,” he says, straightening so that he can observe the crowd. Are they looking for Kommissar? Beca feels an inkling of worry. She dances with Chloe but keeps close enough so that she can hear Pieter and girl talk, even if she can’t understand what they’re saying.  
  
She catches the girl gesturing to her before spouting off more German. “Ich dachte, sie wäre bei der Maus. Kommissar hatte mich, dafür zu sorgen dass Sie und die Maus wäre allein sind.” Pieter catches her eye then, and moves toward her, shoulders tense under his black button up.  
  
He takes her by the arm and gently tugs her away so that he can speak to her away from the prying eyes of the Bellas. “Did you speak with the Kommissar earlier?” Beca grimaces which may as well be a dead give away. “Ari says that you were to meet with her before the party?”  
  
“She cornered me in my dressing room, yeah,” she admits, and Pieter seems surprised.  
  
“And she let you leave?”  
  
Beca snorts, looking away so that she doesn't have to crane her head to meet the German’s eyes. “More like she couldn't get out of the room fast enough.”  
  
Pieter straightens, his eyes darting around the stadium. He seems worried, and Beca feels an answering twinge of concern in her gut. “That does not sound like her at all.” He glances down at her again, like she’s a puzzle he can’t quite solve. “What did you say to her?”  
  
Beca’s hackles rise up at the accusation and she snaps, “I didn’t say anything!” She takes a deep breath and waves off Chloe when the redhead acts as though she’s going to intervene. “We were, um, okay it doesn’t matter what we were doing, but she caught a look at my tattoo and then ran off.” She fights off a blush, but Pieter doesn’t seem the slightest bit scandalized, as if his co-leader frequently corners the competition in empty rooms and proceeds to ravish them. The thought makes Beca’s stomach twist, and she recognizes the sensation as jealousy. She doesn’t quite know what to make of that.  
  
“You said that she saw your tattoo?” he clarifies. “You mean your Binding tatto, ja?”  
  
Beca grits her teeth. “Yeah, that one." Pieter hums under his breath, looking curiously at the Bella, more importantly, looking at her stomach where her tattoo is hidden behind black cloth. He knows where to look. _Guess he must have seen Kommissar's before_.  
  
"I think," he says finally, "that you need to find Luisa and talk to her."  
  
_Luisa? Is that her name? That definitely didn't come up in any of my google searches_. "I don't think she's interested in talking. She was the one who ran out on me earlier, not the other way around.  
  
Pieter puts an arm around her shoulders and leads her to the edge of the dance floor. Beca considers digging in her heels and telling him to fuck off, but then she remembers that he's probably more than a foot taller than her and muscled up like a fucking linebacker. When they're somewhat hidden away behind the bar, Pieter turns and fixes her with a serious look.  
  
"I understand that there is no love lost between you and Luisa," Beca rolls her eyes, "but if you two truly are soulmates, then you should clean the air between the two of you and have a serious talk about what this means."  
  
"I'm assuming that you mean 'clear the air', but I don't see the point in talking with her. She didn't exactly stick around after she saw my tattoo. She's obviously not interested."  
  
Pieter scratches at the back of his neck. "Luisa is very," he gestures helplessly, having difficulty finding the word. He tries again. "She gave up on finding her soulmate many years ago, and I feel she may have panicked when she realized the situation."  
  
Beca laughs but there's no humor in it. "Understatement of the century, dude."  
  
"Tiny maus, all I am saying is that you should at least try and speak with her." He looks at her imploringly. "If she is your soulmate and you are hers, don't you think you will regret not even trying?" Beca looks away, watches the party goers carry on while her world is being flipped upside down.  
  
"What does it even matter?" she asks eventually. "She isn't here now, and we have no idea where she's at, so it's kind of a moot point."  
  
Pieter smiles, a real one, not the smug smirk he so favored in all of his previous dealings with the Bellas. "She will be here," he says, staring out over the crowd. "Luisa is many things, but a coward is not one of them."  
  
Beca sighs and resigns herself to yet another stressful evening. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A little less than an hour later, Beca finally spots Kommissar through the drunken crowd. She's dancing with another girl, their bodies pressed together in a way that's almost lewd, and Beca's stomach roils uneasily. What the _fuck_ does the German think she's doing? _Is this her way of coping with the situation? Pretending it didn't even happen and moving on to the next willing partner?_  
  
Kommissar may be the most flawless and attractive person Beca has ever met, but like hell is Beca going to let her pull a stunt like this.  
  
Beca fights her way through the crowd, eyes locked on the tall blonde and disregarding everyone else around her. She catches Kommissar's eye just before she reaches her, but it's too late for the German to try and get away. "Can I talk with you," Beca asks, raising her voice to be be heard over the music. She levels a hard stare at the girl she's dancing with. "Privately?"  
  
Either her tone or her expression gets the point across and the girl slinks off into the crowd, throwing a disappointed look at Kommissar over her shoulder before she disappears. Kommissar glares at Beca, but it's halfhearted at best. "Was that entirely necessary?"  
  
"What the fuck are you playing at?" Beca asks heatedly. The German looks vaguely surprised by the anger in her tone and glances at the crowd around them.  
  
"Let's take this discussion elsewhere, maus."  
  
She leads Beca through the throng, only looking back once to check that she's following. They move silently into the backstage area of the stadium, stopping once the noise from the party dies down and they are alone. "Is that your way of dealing with the situation?" Beca asks as soon as they've stopped moving. "Just gonna pretend like nothing happened?"  
  
Kommissar manages to look both irritated and bored, but she won't meet the Bella's eye. "Nothing did happen." Her tone seems so brittle, as if it's a strain to force the words out of her mouth.  
  
"Because you ran off like you'd seen a fucking ghost, and left me without a single fucking word!" Beca sighs and runs a hand across her face. "I'm not stupid, Kommissar. I know you saw my tattoo, and that's why you left. I can put two and two together and figure out why."  
  
Kommissar still hasn't looked at her, as if avoiding her gaze will prevent the conversation from happening. Beca stays quiet for a minute, feeling the fight leave her the longer the silence stretches. Why did she think this was a good idea? She's about to just turn away and leave it, to put the infuriating German and her conflicted grey eyes behind her, when the other woman finally speaks.  
  
"You were not supposed to mean anything," Kommissar says softly. Beca's heart drops into her stomach at the confession. "You were a distraction. A welcome one certainly, but a distraction nonetheless." She finally looks at Beca, but all the Bella can read in her features is defeat. "You were my rival, but you were also beautiful and feisty, and I could not keep you from my thoughts. Pieter was quite fed up with my pining, I'm sure."  
  
Beca wets her lips and swallows against her dry throat. She takes a step towards the taller woman, and Kommissar takes a corresponding step back as if desperate to maintain some sort of distance between them. "If you felt that way about me, then why did you run away earlier?"  
  
Kommissar looks vaguely guilty now and watches Beca move closer again. She doesn't step away this time. "I stopped looking for my soulmate many years ago, Beca. I had no expectations of finding them, and I held no hope that I would stumble upon them in my travels." Beca stands just in front of Kommissar, chin tipped up so that she can maintain eye contact. The German observes her with the expression of a woman who has seen something unexpected and wonderful. But still she doesn't reach out for the smaller woman and keeps her hands fisted against her sides. "I was caught so off guard when I saw your tattoo and also a little afraid. Do you understand?"  
  
"I think I do, but that was still kind of shitty on your part." Kommissar cracks a smile, small but genuine. Beca wishes she could kiss her again. "Well you know what comes next, right? You've seen mine, now show me yours."  
  
Kommissar's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "You are very forward, tiny maus. You should buy me dinner first, ja?" She's teasing, but Beca's mind is suddenly flooded with images of the German dressed for a date, them enjoying dinner together and laughing over something, a goodnight kiss that leads to more. She can imagine them together and dating and so happy with each other. She can feel her longing like an ache in her chest.  
  
"Sure, I'll take you on a date, but you're not getting out of this." She reaches for the bottom of Kommissar's shirt and slowly slips the bottom most button through its hole. The German watches her intently but does nothing to stop her. Beca can feel her heart rate pick up, caught between desire for the woman in front of her and anxiety over what she knows she'll find. She works her way up the row of buttons. With each one that she pops free, Kommissar’s breathing gets a little more uneven. Beca can’t tell if it’s desire or fear, but the way the woman’s eyes darken makes her think it’s the former.  
  
Finally, she has Kommissar’s shirt completely undone. She slips her hands under the dark fabric, hands sliding along the sinfully soft skin of her stomach. Beca feels the toned muscles of her abdomen twitch under her touch, and she catches the German’s eye when she looks up under her lashes.  
  
“You will be the death of me, Beca Mitchell,” Kommissar says, voice hoarse. That’s all the warning Beca has before Kommissar leans down and presses their lips together, mouths moving gently against one another. A hand comes up to cup Beca’s neck, tilting her head back to give the taller woman better access. The other hand settles on her waist, but Beca’s head is reeling, struggling to catch up.  
  
Before the kiss can deepen, Kommissar pulls back, leaning all of her weight against the wall behind her. Her hands stay where they are, as if to anchor herself, but her eyes move rapidly over Beca’s face, searching for something. Beca stares back, trying to convey through her eyes what’s she feeling, her insecurities and her determination to see this through. The hand on Beca’s neck moves across her shoulder and down her arm until Kommissar’s hand covers her own.  
  
Slowly, Kommissar takes their joined hands and slides them under her shirt, parting the fabric until their hands are nestled over the bottom of the German’s ribs. She stops, stormy grey eyes never leaving Beca.  
  
Beca breaks eye contact to turn her attention to the tattoo that’s still hidden from view. With her free hand she pulls back Kommissar’s shirt and then moves her and the blonde’s hands. Her breath leaves her in a quiet rush. She knew what to expect, because otherwise she wouldn’t even be having this awkward, infuriating conversation in the first place, but seeing the mirror image of her own tattoo inked across Kommissar’s perfect skin sort of knocks the wind out of her sails.  
  
She traces the looping cursive with a finger, but her hand is suddenly caught in the German’s grip again. With a voice so soft it’s almost a whisper, Kommissar asks, “Are you satisfied now?”  
  
Beca looks up at the other woman and sees the uncertainty in her eyes. “For now, yeah. But I still owe you dinner, so maybe we should plan out that date before we have to catch our flights in a couple of days.”  
  
Her words surprise the other woman. “You cannot be serious, maus. How do you expect for this,” she gestures between the two of them, “to work? We live on opposite sides of the world.”  
  
Beca shrugs and pulls her wrist from Kommissar’s grip. She gives her a little half-smile. “Long-distance relationships are a thing, you know. At least until we can both get into the same country.” Kommissar opens her mouth, looking like she’s about to protest yet again, so Beca pulls her shot. “Luisa.”  
  
The German’s mouth snaps shut, and Beca thinks she hears her inhale sharply. Grey eyes stares down at her, dark and so very difficult to read. The Bella takes Luisa’s hand and places it, palm down, over her own heart, so that the other woman can feel how fast it beats. “Look, I know you’re kind of freaked about this whole thing, and I get that, really I do.” She looks imploringly up at the blonde. “But if you’re really dead set against this, I need you to tell me right now. Just say that you don’t want to try this, to be with me, and I’ll walk away and you won’t ever hear from me again.”  
  
“You make it so very difficult to do the right thing, Beca,” Luisa says, and she can hear the rasp in her voice.  
  
“The right thing? You think pushing me away, pushing _your soulmate_ away, is the right thing to do?”  
  
Luisa’s face contorts briefly as if she’s in physical pain and Beca feels her hand tense where it rests on her chest. “Do you even know anything about me, Beca? I am a stranger to you. If you knew me, truly knew me, you would not be so desperate to convince me of this.”  
  
Frustration boils up in her. “Then fucking tell me!”  
  
Suddenly she’s being whirled around and her back meets the wall where Luisa had just been, and she has a wild-eyed German looming over her. “You want to know my faults then, liebling,” she mutters lowly, and Beca shivers. “I am fiercely overprotective of people I consider mine, sometimes to the point of pushing them away. I am easily made jealous over the smallest of things. I am not good at letting go. I have never been in a committed romantic relationship in my life because the thought of rejection terrifies me. But you, I look at you, and I think I could be better than what I am now. And that is even more frightening than anything else I have ever felt.”  
  
Luisa is breathing hard when she finally stops, and her eyes are full of heat. Beca swallows thickly, and does the only thing she can think to in this particular situation.  
  
When she rises up and presses her lips to Luisa’s, the taller woman practically melts into her, their bodies falling against one another and touching from chest to knees. Large hands slide around to Beca’s back and pull her completely flush against the other woman, and Beca whines into her mouth. “I’m not going to just run away from you,” she gasps out between kisses. Luisa groans against her lips, hands clenching in Beca’s shirt.  
  
“If we do this, I won’t let you go. No matter how poorly it ends.”  
  
Beca pulls back from the kiss, her arms still looped around Luisa’s neck. She manages a smile. “Good, because we’re soulmates, so this is kind of for the long term.”  
  
Luisa sighs, dropping her head so that it rests on Beca’s shoulder. Beca thinks she can pick out the smell of the other woman’s shampoo, something vaguely floral. “You know how to wear a woman down, tiny maus,” Luisa says, finally lifting her head to look Beca in the eye. The Bella can’t contain the warmth that rises in her chest when she sees that Luisa is smiling, and she grins back.  
  
“So does this mean you’ll give this a try?”  
  
Luisa cups her jaw, brushing her thumb across the arch of Beca’s cheek. Her eyes turn serious, studying the brunette closely as if searching for something in her expression. She must find it because she smiles again, and Beca feels her heart stutter. “Anything for you, liebling.”  
  
Beca grins, relief and unadulterated joy coursing through her like a flood. She feels laughter bubble up in her throat and she smothers it against Luisa’s mouth. The other woman chuckles too, smiling into their kiss, before she rests their foreheads together. Her eyes shine with a calmness and peace that had been missing earlier, and Beca feels an answering quietness settle over her.  
  
“We’ll figure this out, I promise,” Beca tells Luisa, and the German nods in agreement. A large hand takes her own and presses it once more to the tattoo hidden beneath her unbuttoned shirt.  
  
“Aller Anfang ist schwer. Aber manchmal ist es das wert.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Das kann nicht sein, -- It can't be.
> 
> Aller Anfang ist schwer -- All beginnings are hard.
> 
> Hast du Kommissar gesehen -- Have you seen the Kommissar?
> 
> Nein, ich dachte, sie wäre bei dir. -- No, I thought she was with you.
> 
> Ich dachte, sie wäre bei der Maus. Kommissar hatte mich, dafür zu sorgen dass Sie und die Maus wäre allein sind. -- I thought she was with the mouse. Kommissar asked me to make sure that she and the mouse were alone together.
> 
> Aller Anfang ist schwer. Aber manchmal ist es das wert. -- All beginnings are hard, But sometimes they are worth it.


End file.
